


meltdown

by aware



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: AGAIN i wrote this as fem reader but its probably not explicitly mentioned, Anxiety, Blood, Comfort, F/M, Self-Indulgent, guilt and mentions of death, probably ooc bandit but like... i wrote this for Me, reader hurts herself minorly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-04-17 10:26:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14186856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aware/pseuds/aware
Summary: Reader finds solace in Bandit, after a mishap in a badly lit kitchen. You're both up at 2 a.m, needing something.





	1. Chapter 1

Today, you tell yourself as you lie in your bed, I will leave my room and make food. Your brain steels itself from thinking about all those damned ‘what if’s’, willing yourself to just fight through. It’s fine, you think. It’s fine. It’s just a kitchen, and it’s just cooking. Don’t be stupid.  You dress slowly and lethargically, you were still in a slump regardless of your determination to do this seemingly meaningless task. You tie your unbrushed hair back into a rough ponytail before placing your hand on the handle. It’s cold, and you can vaguely see your reflection in the chrome material. 

You don’t want to open the door.

You do it anyway. 

Quietly, you walk down the hall, posture terrible from your body trying to fold away inside itself. Your hands are shoved into the pockets of your hoodie, fiddling with any piece of fluff or paper or whatever you can get your hands on. Your eyes are locked onto your own feet. 

 

The kitchen is small and is only really used for snacks or lunch, like sandwiches or microwave meals or fruit. The lighting is harsh and industrial, unlike the soft light fixtures in your room. Generally you’d get your meals from the dining hall, but you cannot face that place. You’re not even that hungry, anyway. You should just go back to your room. 

 You don’t, and you grab some bread from the counter and begin to search for some of your favourite sandwich ingredients. 

 

Someone comes in. You freeze. Believing that mostly everyone in your hall was away on missions or asleep, you were not expecting anyone to be here. You weren’t  _ planning _ on anyone to be here. It’s bad, you’re not dressed well, you haven’t showered, you look like you haven’t slept in ages (though you have, a lot). Worrying someone was never part of the plan. 

 Bandit leans on the counter and faces you as he waits for his coffee. You vaguely decide to cut some fruit in some stupid mockery of self care when he starts talking. 

 

“I have not seen you around for some time, huh,” You halfheartedly laugh in agreement. “It is a shame.”

 

Trying to smile at him was hard. 

 

Distracted by your rampaging thoughts because of his sudden appearance, you feel a sharp scratch on your hand.  You look down, and your hand is bleeding. Holding it out in front of you, you stare as it drips down onto the cutting board. You make no move to stop it. 

 

Bandit notices your stillness and looks down, too. 

“Hey,” he moves forward quickly, taking your hand in his own, palm up. He guides you to the small table in the room and pushes you slightly to sit down. Moving to the cupboards to get the first aid, he notices that your hands are shaking.  He quickly and efficiently patches up your hand, and pats it gently once he finished. He sits in the chair directly in front of you, so close you can hear him breathe. You find it within you to meet his eyes, glassy and sad, and you smile shakily. 

 He smiles sadly back, and he hates how much of himself he sees in those eyes. Internally, he’s kicking himself for not noticing. He missed you, of course - you’d practically disappeared after the last mission. 

“I’m sorry, mein Schatz,” your tired eyes look quizzically at Bandit before continuing. “I didn’t realise. It must be hard. You know I am here, yes?”

 

Without thinking, for once, for the first time in maybe a week, you lean forward and let yourself rest your head on his shoulder. And without thinking, he puts his arms around you, warm and gentle, and you let yourself cry. 

“It is so hard,” you manage between rough breathing, “to leave the mistakes behind and to keep moving.” Bandit rubs a soothing hand up and down your back. “I am so nervous, all the time, and it’s stupid, and I think of everything I’ve done wrong, and it makes me a huge liability, I could never, ever forgive myself if someone got killed because of my hesitation.”

He lets you ramble on, eager to be the shoulder for you to lean on (literally). He knows you need it, from his own prior experience when he wished he had someone himself. 

 

“People are dead at my hands, Bandit. I know no one here takes this lightly, of course they don’t, but sometimes I feel like the guilt is going to crush me from inside.” You turn your head closer into his neck, taking a deep breath.

“My love, that only means you are kind. I would be more worried if you felt nothing at all. And, take my advice, guilt is part of the job. But staying busy and surrounding yourself with friends who understand will help you heal.”

The term of endearment is lost on you as you consider his words. You hum into his shoulder, as he talks again, quieter and more gentle. “Please do not hide away again. Not from me. I need you just as much.” You move back a little, looking at his face, his eyes staring ahead, watery. It’s the most private thing you think you’ll ever see. You remember all the things he must’ve gone through and you soften, kissing his cheek lightly and feeling yourself blush bright at your reckless action.  He jolts and blushes just as much. You giggle a little, feeling better at seeing such a cute reaction from someone usually so cocky and sure of himself. 

 

The tiredness of crying behind to set in (for both of you, really) and you sigh heavily. Bandit, ever the gentleman, offers to walk you back to your room. It was silent, though not uncomfortable; everything that needed to be said was said, and you both needed to be vulnerable sometimes. But when you got to your door, you freeze up, your body tense. You really didn’t want a night alone in your sad, dull room, no matter how much of a safe haven it was to you. And Bandit felt so too, with his hesitation to turn around and say good night. 

 

“I don’t want you to leave.” you whisper, Bandit nearly missing it. He smiles, and it softens when you look over to him. 

 

“Then I will stay.”


	2. Chapter 2

You’re, for lack of a better term, you. You’re you. And nothing works out as easy as it seems, because that’s life, and life is complicated. It’s not cruel, it’s just never only one path. It’s a lot. 

 

When you wake up with Bandit’s arm slung over your waist, you panic. 

 

Your problems aren’t going to disappear with love - they will improve, but you need to actively sort yourself out. After all, Bandit needs someone as much as you do. You can’t rely on a stupid, cute, German man to fix your entire life.  You sit up in your bed, Bandit’s arm slipping off your body. Heart beating too fast. Knuckles clenched white around the sheets. You need to be out.

 

Bathroom. The bathroom has a lock and you can freshen up, but you need clothes, and you might wake him up, and you’re not ready for that confrontation yet. You go anyway. If he stirs you don’t stop to think. The quicker you’re in the bathroom, the less chance of him waking up. 

 

You stand in the shower, hot, scalding water flowing down your body. Your unbrushed hair sticks to your shoulders. You feel... gross. And disgusting, despite the fact you were cleaning yourself. 

 You can’t let Bandit love you. You can’t. You’re not ready and you’re sick. Because that’s what it is, really. A sickness. Your depression and anxiety eats you up from the inside, leaving a shell of a human that Bandit doesn’t need right now. 

 

You have to put him first. You love him, you really do, and he needs someone emotionally available to deal with him. Not you. 

 

The bandages on your hand are soaked through, and you pry them off your skin. The gash stings, and you stare at it. Why? Why does he care, when he is more important. You can deal with yourself. 

 

You don’t pretend to hide your crying. 

 

He’s sat up in your bed when you leave your bathroom. The light coming through the curtains doesn’t make the scene as ethereal as you hoped. It just makes you sad. He looks over with that dumb concerned look on his face, and you want to slap it off him. 

He’s him, and you’re you, and you’ve concluded he is more important. 

 

“Are you okay?” He asks, quietly, like he’s trying to soothe a scared animal. You hate it. 

“Yep. I’m fine.” You pointedly look away from him. You see him look up and down, taking in your ratty - but clean - pyjama shorts and regular t-shirt. 

He sees the red rings of your eyes and your open wound and your bouncing leg and thinks about how much you hurt. 

 

He is okay with you being the weak one. He needs someone to care for so he can heal himself, needing responsibility and needing a home. He’s built that with Jäger and Blitz and IQ but it’s never been enough - he needed something to ground him. It’s always been you. Star of the squad, unfathomably loyal, quiet, shuts herself away, haunted. 

 

His problems are in the past, and he is in recovery. Your problems are now.  He gets up and walks over to you, slowly. His hair is sticking up in so many directions and you hate it. 

 

You hate him. 

 

He rests his hands on your shoulders, gently, and your eyes glass over. He smiles sadly, like you did yesterday, and the hug he gives you is so soft. When you wrap your arms around his waist and hug back, he rests his cheek on the top of your head. It’s calm. You feel calm. 

 

You love him. 

 

You both have the week off anyway, so you lounge around in your room. Operations take a lot out of someone anyway, even without mental illness. Taxing on the heart, head and body.  You tangle up together in bed again, your head on his chest and his arm around your shoulders. And you ramble. And you tell him what you think. When you shake with nerves he hugs you tighter. And you understand. 

 

Relationships are give and take. You wanted to help but not let him help you. It doesn’t work like that.  That’s you putting him on a pedestal. That’s so wrong - and you knew that illusion would be shattered the second you got into the field.  You eat together, and you clean the room together, and when he smiles you feel like life is worth living again. 

 

Guilt is something that comes and goes. Your problems come in waves of severity and that’s completely okay - you have Bandit, and you have your friends, and you have the entire team to guide you through it. Life is like that, sometimes. And most of all, you have _ yourself,  _ and you have this undying want to be more than what you are. For Bandit, for the squad, for  _ you.  _ Life is more than this, and this is the beginning of recovery.

 

You and Bandit will be there for each other. Until death do you part. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys  
> i know this is short, and i know i have another fic to update, but i wrote more of this when i was feeling down one night. i always feel like theres an element of 'i am in love so i am saved' which, while true for some, feels wrong, i got that idea from my own work and i wanted to clarify it up a bit
> 
> 3rd chap of both ways coming sometime soon. its been a busy month. i,m sorry about it but such is life
> 
> thanks for all the reads and kudos. i really appreciate it.

**Author's Note:**

> this is probably OOC for him but i'm in a really bad place currently and i needed something like this  
> its short too lol but i tried to scrape it past 1k  
> anon comments disabled again, sorry
> 
> listen to window by joji for this one


End file.
